Falling is Like This
by tremblingmoon
Summary: Sometimes Serena wishes she didn't have such a vivid memory. A sequel to "What the Easter Bunny Brings." *After five years, I think it's safe to say that I will never finish this story...so, mea culpa: it is unfinished and will remain so.*
1. Part 1

**Falling is Like This  
**Part 1

by tremblingmoon

Serena awoke Easter morning with a blazing headache and an aching nausea that started at her toes and rapidly worked its way up into the pit of her stomach when she carefully tried to open her eyes. Shutting them again tightly against the light of the sun streaming in long, thin rivulets through her blinds, Serena groaned, nausea swelling towards her chest and fueling the pounding in her head. _Good God,_ Serena thought ruefully,_ what_ _was in those drinks?_

She rolled cautiously and slowly onto her back. Each of her limbs—creamy, sensitive skin left exposed by the tangled sheets at the foot of bed and striped by the light-shadow-light staccato of the sunbeams—seemed to move of its own volition so that her usually graceful body was rendered somewhat ungainly by the discordant shifting of its parts. After what seemed to be an unduly laborious process of rolling over, Serena lay still on her back for a moment, willing her stomach to stop roiling.

Carefully, she let her eyes flutter open slightly and peered through her lashes at the ivory ceiling. She had nowhere to be until brunch at her cousin's apartment in—she slid her eyes over to glance at the clock above the door—four hours, so maybe it would be best just to lie here until the nausea subsided.

Unfortunately for Serena, staring at the ceiling left her with little to do but think, and thinking meant thinking about last night. And last night her close friend ADA Kelly Gaffney had kissed her gently goodbye before stepping out of the cab they had shared from the club and disappearing into her apartment building. Her lips had ghosted over Serena's in a way that made her wonder whether she'd imagined Kelly's earlier passion on the dance floor, her fierce attention to Serena's mouth and hands and body.

The mere memory of that haunting last kiss—so careful and so shy and so unreadable—was triggering a host of sensations and emotions, not all of which were entirely unpleasant. While Serena's mind was troubled by Kelly's abrupt departure, her body was more intent on remembering her approach, her seduction, and her allure. She wondered whether Kelly had been too drunk to judge her own actions, whether she had been too drunk to realize that this was her friend, not the dark-haired colleague she'd been fantasizing about recently.

They had both been drunk—college-party-drunk, Serena joked with herself, remembering a few choice weekends with girls she could barely remember—and yet Serena could vividly recall every touch, every scent, every moment filled with heated looks and sensations that went well beyond stimulating. Her nausea held momentarily at bay by her steadily growing arousal, Serena closed her eyes and indulged herself, letting the memories wash over her: Kelly's delicate fingers brushing her knuckles as she took Serena's hand and let her lead the way to the dance floor; the way Kelly had trembled, a shuddered intake of breath, really, when they had kissed; the heat of Kelly's skin under her hands when she gripped her friend's waist. Their first kiss had been spectacular, so much so that Serena had seriously begun to doubt Kelly's earlier coy denial—during a conversation at the bar, before thought had turned to action—that she had never even so much as _thought_ about kissing another woman before she began to work with Tracey.

Kelly's kisses seemed to anticipate everything Serena had ever wanted in a lover—perfect pressure, perfect rhythm, and a perfect whimper when she had gathered the material of Kelly's silky shirt in two tight fists and forcibly pulled her mouth away to look into her partner's eyes.

Kelly's eyes reminded Serena of the Hope Diamond. Blue. Icy. Dangerous. When she pulled them apart, the ADA's eyes fluttered open to reveal a color both shockingly cloudy and glazed; although, in a matter of seconds, Serena watched them return to their normal azure, pupils contracting in response to the increased light and decreased stimuli. Serena had pulled away because she wanted to be sure, not for herself but for Kelly; instead, her companion's gaze left _her_ feeling uneasy and off-balance. Emotions danced behind Kelly's retinas—attraction, confusion, desire, nervousness, arousal—and the bare skin of her shoulders glistened with a light sheen of sweat. .

_Don't regret this, please, don't regret this_, Serena thought fervently, slowly releasing Kelly's shirt and letting her hands drift to rest on the blonde's hips. She couldn't bear to stop touching her. Not quite yet.

"Should I apologize?" Serena whispered. She could taste the alcohol on her breath and hoped the scent wouldn't travel.

"What did you do?" Kelly's voice started off serious and gentle, and yet ended with lilt and a playfully cocked eyebrow, her nervousness manifesting itself as unintentional glibness.

_She's learning that expression from Tracey_, Serena thought, recalling the casual and, she hated to admit, charming sarcasm of the brunette attorney she had only met once or twice at DA functions. Instead of acknowledging the bitter taste in her mouth, she laughed ruefully.

"Well, if you have to ask, then I'm obviously way off-track."

"Wait," Kelly grabbed Serena's hand as she began to pull away. "I'm sorry. I was teasing. And you don't need to apologize. I'm the one who dragged you out tonight and whined and complained to the point that you felt the need to get us both completely smashed. What _was_ in those drinks, anyway?" Kelly paused, laughing to herself, and then shook her head and sighed, "I'm sorry, Serena, I took advantage. It wasn't right for me to drag you into this until I knew if I was sure."

Fear and confusion were beginning to etch themselves more and more prominently across Kelly's smooth features and Serena found herself wishing ardently that she had never stopped that kissed, never hesitated to find out if Kelly knew just exactly what she was doing or whom she was doing it with.

"Should I take you home?" Serena interrupted, afraid that if she heard anymore she wouldn't be able to pick up all the pieces of her already bruised ego.

"I guess," Kelly looked unsure for a moment, as if she had something else to say, and then nodded. Serena wrapped her fingers gently around her friends' smaller hand and led them from the club, guiltily allowing herself in one last, lingering touch.

_Ugg_. Serena's eyes fluttered open; it seemed unnaturally cruel that, despite the alcohol, she remembered everything from last night so vividly. For the second time in twenty-four hours, she wished she had been able to freeze time the moment before she had pulled away.

"If you're always chivalrous and accommodating," a friend had once told her, "you'll only end up with a broken heart." Although, Serena had never agreed with her friend, she was starting to see his point. In any case, it would have at least been nice to only relive the pleasant memories and not have to recall how everything had so quickly unraveled.

Serena understood what had happened. Kelly had been upset and confused by unfamiliar feelings, and she had turned to her friend for comfort. Kelly wasn't easily deterred when she set her mind to something, and while Serena was sure their make-out session was not what Kelly had had in mind, she still felt slightly used. _Damn it, she's not even interested in you_, an irate part of Serena's mind protested, _you were just a convenient replacement for an unattainable workplace attraction._

No, it wasn't fair to blame Kelly. She had been there, too, an active and willing participant and Kelly could never be that cruel. Besides, Serena couldn't shake the feeling that the arousal gracing the ADA's features hadn't been entirely circumstantial. And Kelly's goodbye kiss in the cab went also went a long way towards fueling Serena's suspicions. Nevertheless, Serena wanted to clarify things, to make it very clear that she wasn't around to satisfy the experimental whims of her straight friends. If Kelly was really attracted to her—in whatever minor way—they would deal with that accordingly, but right now she needed to figure out how they were going to get past this misstep in their friendship. She would call Kelly, now that the alcohol was working its way out of her system, and they would figure this out together. Serena picked up the phone quickly before she could change her mind.

Kelly's line was busy. _At 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning?_ Serena wondered, before hanging up reluctantly and drawing herself into a sitting position. The more practical side of Serena's mind kicked into high gear—okay, maybe she wasn't ready after all,. Maybe she needed some time to figure things out—to figure out if she could accept not ever again feeling Kelly's pulse race beneath her fingertips, to figure out if she could be "just friends" now that she had begun to fall in love with the taste of Kelly's skin and the light smell of honeysuckle that lingered in her hair. Serena knew herself well enough to know—now that she had gotten herself into this mess— that she couldn't go any further, in either direction, without thinking things through.

And, anyway, Serena decided, maybe Kelly would call her first.


	2. Part 2

Falling Is Like This, part 2  
by tremblingmoon

Resting on the courthouse steps in a feeble ray of sunlight and sipping her coffee, Kelly watched a tall blonde ascend towards the imposing façade and chastised herself, yet again, for her cowardice. She still hadn't called Serena.

Over a month had passed since that Easter Eve, yet it still had pride of place in her memories— even though her fondness for recalling that evening was shaded with guilt. Definitely not regret, though, Kelly had sworn long ago never to regret even the guiltiest pleasures, no matter how foreign. She had seen too many friends, haunted by past mistakes and with an unhealthy relationship to their work ethic, who only enjoyed life in the most cautious of ways, ever-vigilant for the next misstep. While Kelly herself had always been a good girl—straight A's, hard worker, teacher's pet, pampered daughter—she wouldn't, _couldn't_, accept complacency. That said, not calling Serena was unacceptable and yet Kelly, usually so stalwart and surefooted, had somehow not managed to pick up her phone, scan the list of numbers, and press "call."

As if to punish her for atypical timidity April had been grey and rainy—the sun had apparently decided to hibernate through spring this year, only poking its head lazily through the clouds long enough to inspire the faintest glimmer of hope, quickly dashed, in the people New York. And, no matter how many scarves or sweaters she purchased, to supplement the soft, lightly tailored, button-up blouses she loved, Kelly still hadn't found one that could counter the sharp breath of wind on days when it ripped through her spring coats with its razor-edged sting.

Today, walking to the courthouse in a jacket far too warm for the season but a perfect shelter from the wind, she realized that she had been in denial about the weather as she had been in denial about Serena. And this morning, fed up with being cold, she had reluctantly drawn on a coat of soft wool, feeling ridiculously over-dressed in the foyer, but pleasantly cozy once she stepped beyond its glassed-in confines. The weather was atrocious for this time of year, but that was no excuse for rebelliousness. Life would have been easier, and her commutes to work warmer and more comfortable, if she'd just given in sooner.

Serena was another story. Kelly had meant to give them both a little space, a little time to think things through, and then she was going to call and ask Serena out for dinner—either to mend the possible rift in their friendship or to see if there could be something more. Well, that had been her intention. But days had gone by, and then weeks, and she still hadn't managed to pick up the phone. It wasn't like her to act this way, to not state her mind—hell, she stood up to Tracey, admittedly the most intimidating presence in her life, everyday—but something about the situation with Serena left Kelly feeling stranded, standing precariously on only rapidly shifting sand.

To put it bluntly, Kelly knew she had deceived her friend. And not in the way she imagined Serena thought. She hadn't meant to take advantage, and her professed attraction for Tracey had been genuine. Now, the intensity of the brunette's enigmatic allure had lessened somewhat owing to their growing friendship, but Kelly still felt a tingle whenever Tracey looked her directly in the eyes, holding her momentarily in place with a smile, or when her voice reached that particularly dangerous register, so low even the walls seemed to cower. But all these feelings were manageable; she had certainly experienced workplace crushes before and, despite her initial mystification, Kelly had quickly realized that that was all this was. Certainly, her feelings were new on the gender front, but the symptoms of infatuation hadn't changed much in the conversion from men to women. And now that all those sensations were slowly and comfortably evening out to an almost poetically fluid work dynamic and easy camaraderie, Kelly was struggling with a far more complicated realization.

What she hadn't told Serena that night—the night they had spent long, incredible minutes kissing ardently on the dance floor of an overcrowded club—was that she had begun to feel something far more startling than the coarse, over-determined desire of workplace magnetism. She wasn't sure how to categorize it, but what she had felt that night was not mere attraction or misplaced arousal. In those moments, Serena's lips soft, devouring, yielding, overwhelming, she had forgotten everything: where she was, who she was with, even her own name. Lost in a euphoric haze of exotically familiar perfume all she could think was _Serena. Serena. Serena_. And for days afterwards, every time Kelly's mind drifted back to that delicious moment of loss and rapture, her lower abdomen would tug almost painfully, an ache high in her chest, and her eyelids involuntarily fluttering with the intensity of the sensations. Once, on her way to work, her memory evoked a desire for Serena so powerful she literally stopped in her tracks.

Worse yet, after that night Kelly had become increasingly distracted—at work, at home, in the grocery store—and, this week, her "Serena sightings" had reached an all-time high of three (two on the courthouse steps and one at yoga) and it was only Tuesday. She would see an elegant hand with short, manicured nails, a flash of brilliant blonde, or an impeccable grey suit and her breath would catch for a moment before the realization of her absurd misrecognition settled in.

_There's another one_. Kelly watched a frazzled legal aid take the courthouse steps two at a time. _How many leggy blondes were there in this city, really?_ She let out an exasperated sigh and pushed herself wearily off the steps, depositing her empty cup in the nearest trashcan. Somehow the coffee hadn't done much to inspire perkiness today. Tracey would probably ask her again why she looked so tired, so despondent. This had to stop. The only problem was that, for once, she had no idea where to begin. After a month of not calling, the complexity of her newfound feelings notwithstanding, Kelly wasn't sure if she really had it in her to bridge that gap and start anew.


	3. Part 3

**Falling is Like This  
**Part 3

by tremblingmoon

Kelly needed to relax. At least, that's what Tracey had concluded after a week of watching her partner grow increasingly frustrated, fighting distraction and restlessness at every turn. Besides, she was becoming uncharacteristically cranky and sarcastic, and Tracey, thinking that she'd like to reserve that sort of behavior only for herself, was eager to restore in her colleague the even-keel, compassionate, down-to-earth temperament she had come to cherish and admire.

That's why she decided to take Kelly to dinner: they'd gone for meals before—quick lunches with paperwork, an occasional dinner here and there on the spur of the moment after a hard day in court—but Tracey had never simply asked "Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?" without pretense of work or convenience. But this week Kelly obviously needed some cheering up, and, if they weren't technically friends already (by word or deed) their synchronicity at work had demonstrated a relationship so close to friendship that it might as well be.

Truth be told, although she might only admit it under severe duress, Tracey was developing a distinct fondness for her pretty blonde partner. Kelly wasn't really her type—wouldn't have been her type even in her college days when, for a while, women had been all she could think about—but there was enough attraction mixed with friendly affection that Tracey felt anchored to the blonde in a way that surpassed mere coworker status. Kelly was charming and gorgeous and just fiery enough to hold her own against Tracey's acerbic wit and occasional dogged determination to win at all costs. Tracey loved that Kelly fought back, loved their fluid partnership, and yet Tracey had lived long enough to know better than mess up the most fantastic working relationship of her life for something that would never be more than a lust-filled moment or two in the coatroom or on her desk, tempting as the thought may be.

Hesitation hung in Kelly eyes when Tracey asked. The blue of her irises shifted noticeably in color, growing momentarily darker before reverting to their normal, maddening ice blue.

"Just some dinner, Kelly. Don't worry, I won't bite." Tracey grinned disarmingly and simultaneously maintained a tone of utter practicality, the logic of her suggestion hanging heavy on her lips. "You need to relax, I need to eat. Seems like the perfect arrangement."

Kelly cocked her head slightly, a smile tugging at her lips. She seemed vaguely amused and maybe even charmed by Tracey persistence, and so the wily brunette went in for the kill.

"We can even go to Angelo's afterward," Tracey coaxed, dangling the possibility of dessert—tiramisu, to be exact; the most perfect tiramisu in all of the city, Kelly had once professed—like a carrot before the ADA. "My treat."

Kelly's resolve broke quickly after that; she held Tracey's gaze for half a second before nodding eagerly.

"You know me too well."

"No, I just know that there are some things to which you can't say 'no.' Like dessert. And probably kittens, too, right?" Tracey teased, feeling somewhat smug.

"Dessert, yes," Kelly laughed easily, the first lighthearted sound Tracey had heard from her partner in over a week, and walked slowly towards the elevator at her boss's side. "But I'm more of a puppy kind of a girl."

The restaurant was perfect and Tracey's favorite. It was warm and sensual, while maintaining a comfortable atmosphere that was neither sterile nor overly romantic. And while it was a little pricier than a usual "business" dinner would warrant, Tracey felt like indulging herself and her assistant tonight. Kelly's slow, soft smile as she took in the décor more than made up for the few extra dollars spent on a meal.

Eating her dinner slowly, and chatting amicably—after a few early awkward moments, they had fallen into their usual easy banter, trading strange workplace experiences and skimming the surface of their personal lives—Tracey wondered what had her normally passionate, but not easily rattled, partner so shaken. Normally so direct, Tracey hesitated to ask, not wanting to shatter the fragile aura of happiness that seemed to hover around Kelly for the first time in weeks. _Eventually she'll probably say something_, Tracey reassured herself, focusing on Kelly's eyes and listening intently to the blonde as she laughingly recounted tales of childhood misdeeds and misadventures.

Tracey saw her first. The tall, slim blonde hesitated in the doorway, and then stepped forward slightly to peer curiously over the hostess's shoulder. The hostess, a slight redhead, playfully admonished the ADA for peeking before shaking her head slowly and gesturing at the bar. Obviously, ADA Southerlyn was meeting someone, her smooth smile and small touch of thanks on the redhead's shoulder far more subtle flirting than the youthful hostess had herself exhibited. Raising her eyebrows, Tracey focused her gaze back on her companion.

"Apparently this place is popular with our kind tonight," she joked, gesturing in Serena's direction with a wave of her hand.

Just at that moment having slipped the last bite of her linguine limone in her mouth, Kelly, still chewing, turned to follow Tracey's line of sight. As her gaze made contact with the lithe form of ADA Southerlyn, walking towards the bar, Kelly almost choked. Slightly concerned, Tracey leaned forward and patted her companion's back.

"You okay?"

Kelly was staring, unresponsive. And while she quickly overcame her choking fit and, now, seemed to breathing, though somewhat shallowly, Tracey was sure Kelly was far from all right. And then, Serena glanced over, her eyes met Kelly's and Tracey could have sworn she felt the heat in the restaurant shoot up at least five degrees.

The air fairly sizzled with tension as Serena turned slowly on her heel and approached their table, her steps measured—as if she were trying, with some difficultly, to cover for what was actually something closer to hesitancy than control.

"Serena," Kelly spoke first, and Tracey's eyes shifted to her partner. She watched her assistant take a long breath, as if she had just said much more than the one word that had slipped between her lips. "I've been meaning to call you."

"Me too," Serena sighed softly, her eyes apologetic and holding Kelly's gaze for several, long seconds.

Almost visibly shaking herself, Serena's turned to smile tightly at Tracey, "ADA Kibre, we've met before, but it's been a long time."

A woman of polite and genteel stock, Tracey, of course, invited Serena to join them instead of waiting at the bar. Probably, she mused later, one of the worst decisions she had made in a while. The conversation, what little of it there was in the next ten minutes, was incredibly awkward. They talked haltingly about work and the office, but Serena was obviously frustrated and upset, Kelly off-balance, and the anxiety level was literally making Tracey fidget in her seat, continually crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Sure, these sorts of situations made funny scenes in sitcoms and could even be a bit arousing in the right circumstances, but Tracey was beginning to feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable around the two ADAs. Especially Serena—Tracey could sense her thinly veiled animosity, maybe even jealousy, and that went a long way towards conforming her suspicions. The sexual tension that gathered like fog, heavy and overwhelming, around the table was so thick that Tracey felt the puzzle pieces of Kelly's recent distraction and melancholy click into place in record time. In fact, she was almost surprised, considering the tension in the room, that the table napkins hadn't yet burst into flames and sent all the other patrons running for their lives. _One more minute of this, and I'm going to have to hose them both off_, Tracey mused.

Tracey was trying to come up with excuses for leaving as quickly as possible when, with ridiculously impeccable timing—the scenario seemed so staged that Tracey had to resist the urge to look around for cameras—her cell phone began dancing frenetically around the table, the vibrate function doing little to quell its intrusiveness.

Tracey picked up the phone with a snap, like she was practicing for a quick draw shootout and her life depended on it.

"Kibre." Both Kelly and Serena's heads swiveled her way, as if they had only just remembered her presence. She waved a hand at the two blondes in apology.

It was Hector, but nothing important. He just wanted to clarify a few points before re-interviewing a suspect over the weekend. Still, not one to ever overlook or underestimate a gift horse, Tracey decided to take her chance. Listening intently and feigning shock and concern, she stood up quickly, drawing four twenty dollar bills blindingly fast from her purse and tossing them on the table. She began to talk over Hector as she slung her bag over her shoulder, hoping the urgency in her voice was at least marginally believable to the fellow attorneys eyeing her in bewilderment.

"All right, I'll be right there. No, don't worry, it's fine. Don't move. Twenty minutes, okay?"

Tracey forced her face into what she imagined was a viable facsimile of an apologetic frown—mixed with some frustration and a healthy dash of concern—and turned towards the other women. She rested her land lightly across the mouthpiece of her phone before she spoke.

"I'm sorry. My aunt…It's a bit of an apartment emergency…" Wisely (Tracey would applaud herself later), she didn't risk trapping herself in a lie by saying anything further, and instead tilted her head to make direct eye contact with Kelly, her gaze softening slightly.

"I owe you dessert, okay? I won't forget."

She nodded politely at Serena and turned on her heel, making a hasty exit. Fighting the urge to look back at the potential train wreck she was leaving behind, Tracey walked out of the restaurant and lifted the phone back to her ear, immediately humming with Hector's laughter.

"What was that all about?" His voice crackled through the phone, and Tracey grinned.

"Well Hector, maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you about it some time," she teased, "but, for now, let's just say you bailed me out of a very awkward situation and I certainly owe you a drink."

Tracey strode quickly to the curb and hailed a cab, saying good night to Hector on her cell and giving the driver her address in one seamless utterance. She wondered, lips twitching from a smile into a smirk as the taxi wove its way into traffic, how long it would take Kelly and Serena to wipe those stunned looks off their faces and start making good use of her abrupt departure.


	4. Part 4

Abruptly alone with the woman she'd been dreaming about for weeks, Kelly stared at Serena, holding her gaze as if she were an anchor. She was afraid to turn her head, afraid to look away, for fear that Serena would disappear like a mirage or, worse yet, that, unmoored, she herself would drift farther out to sea.

"Kelly?"

Serena's voice was cautious, but laced with a tremor of frustration that was as impossible to ignore as it was disconcerting. At that moment, time twisting out of gear and every detail shifting into sharp focus—the soft pad of skin between Serena's thumb and forefinger, hand resting on the table; the tendril of hair skirting her left eyebrow; the careful half-smile ghosting over her lips but tempered by guarded eyes—Kelly became hopelessly distracted by the apprehension coloring Serena's voice. She had intended to start with an apology, move on to an explanation, and finish with a request—for coffee, for dinner, for a movie, for anything really that involved possible reconciliation, anything that might lead to the eventual distillation of language down to the nonverbal sighs of pleasure that peppered her nightly fantasies.

There were so many things she should have said, but Kelly was thrown by the half-angry, half-hurt look on Serena's face, and what came out was probably the worse possible response to her friend's hesitant query.

"God, she couldn't get out of here fast enough, could she?" Kelly tried to make light of the situation, tilting her head in the direction of Tracey's departure, smiling ruefully and hoping her boss, her friend, didn't think her a complete fool.

Serena's eyes turned from guarded to steely and, when she spoke, her tone was cold.

"Yes. Surprising, considering it looked like you were both having such a lovely evening. I'm sorry I interrupted and spoiled the mood."

Kelly flinched. The harshness of the other woman's tone clearly said that she wasn't sorry in the least. Kelly pushed down her own ire and tried to explain.

"You didn't spoil anything, Serena. We just went out for dinner after work. Nothing more. I…"

"I don't really care, Kelly," Serena interrupted, "You don't have to explain. I mean, it's not as if I have any right to care, do I?"

"There's nothing going on between me and Tracey. We're friends."

"It doesn't matter, Kelly."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what I said. It doesn't matter. I made a mistake. We both made a mistake. I never should have thought…" Serena's alto grew noticeably deeper for moment before she cleared her throat and shook her head, avoiding Kelly's eyes.

"You never should have thought what, Serena?"

"Nothing. Never mind. Look, I'm sorry it's so hard for you to talk to me, but you don't have to try to make this right. We were drunk. I took advantage. And clearly that evening was upsetting enough that you haven't wanted to talk to me this past month. If I hadn't happened in here tonight, we still wouldn't be talking. So let's let it go. I'm sure we both have more important things to worry about."

"I'd hardly call my memories of that evening upsetting."

Kelly tried to smile, but Serena only bit her lip and breathed out a disappointed sigh.

"Don't patronize me, Kelly. It doesn't suit you, and I deserve better."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know," Serena interrupted her again, "I didn't mean for this to happen either. And I am truly sorry I've, _we've_, managed to screw things up so royally. I don't even know how or why this happened, but it's obvious from tonight that our friendship can't go back to the way it was. I think maybe we should just let things be for now. I'll… I'll call you in a few weeks and…we'll see."

Serena started to stand, her voice final and her posture resigned. Kelly tried one last time to clarify, half rising from her own seat, but she couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice and her tone was harsher than she'd intended.

"That's taking things a little far, don't you think? You didn't even let me finish, and you're completely misunderstanding what I'm trying to say."

Serena shook her head, her carefully controlled poise—so impressive in court and yet so devastating to Kelly at this moment—clearly reasserting itself in every aspect of her demeanor.

"No. I think I understand perfectly. Good luck with Kibre. I hear she's a handful. I'm sure I'll see you around."

Kelly felt like screaming, like taking Serena in her arms and not letting go until the other woman listened. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and she did the only thing she could do in the crowded restaurant without causing a scene. Standing up fully, she reached out and grabbed Serena's wrist just as the ADA was walking away.

Serena turned sharply, clearly ready to shake off the unwanted touch, but at the sight of Kelly's glistening eyes, her expression softened for a brief, hopeful moment, before she schooled her features back to stern blankness.

"What?"

"Serena… I…"

"Serena?" Another voice from across the restaurant made both women turn their heads, two sets of eyes fixing on the petite brunette waving hesitantly from the hostess's podium. Giving the pair a bemused look, she began to make her way over to Serena, the hostess close on her heels with two menus.

Kelly let go of Serena's wrist, her arms hanging limply at her sides as the strange brunette reached Serena and enveloped her in hug, kissing her on both cheeks.

"Hi. I'm sorry I'm late. Everything all right?" She glanced over Serena's shoulder at Kelly.

"No, everything's fine. I just ran into my friend Kelly and she's been keeping me company."

Serena's tone was suddenly relaxed and friendly, belying everything that had happened in the past fifteen minutes. In fact, if Kelly hadn't been a part of the earlier tense conversation, nothing about Serena's posture or her voice would have given it away.

The other woman smiled at Kelly, reaching out her hand.

"Cynthia Preston."

"Kelly Gaffney," Kelly tried to smile, but couldn't quite shake the tremor of sadness from her voice.

"Nice to meet you."

Cynthia turned back to Serena, putting her hand on the other woman's arm in a way that bespoke at least friendly familiarity, if not something more intimate.

"Our table's on the other side of the restaurant, by the window. I'll meet you over there."

"I'm right behind you." Serena's smiled easily and Kelly's heart sank.

She turned back towards Kelly as Cynthia followed the hostess across the room.

"I have to go."

"I know."

"Kelly…"

"I can't stop thinking about you," Kelly blurted, softly, her gaze not meeting Serena's.

"Kelly…"

Kelly looked up to see Serena's mask crack ever so slightly, her lips turning into a slight frown and her eyes flitting quickly from Kelly's eyes to her lips and back again. Serena licked her lips, shut her eyes, took a deep breath, let it out slowly and then shook her head.

"Don't do this."

"I'm serious, Serena."

"So am I."

"I'm so sorry I hurt you, but…"

"I have to go."

"Serena…"

"Goodbye, Kelly."

Her mind clearly made up, Serena didn't wait for Kelly to respond before turning on her heel and walking purposefully to her table, where Cynthia sat looking curiously in their direction.

Kelly let herself sink back into her seat, her hands clenching the table cloth for a minute as she willed herself not to cry.

Then, slowly, she gathered her coat and purse, nodding towards the cash Tracey had left on the table when the server approached with their bill.

She barely heard his thanks and "have a good evening, miss," pulled on her coat, and headed out into the twilight city.

She could smell the imminence of Spring in the air and a light drizzle had started to fall. She stood on the curb, letting the drops catch in her hair and her eyelashes for a moment before she blinked them away. A taxi pulled up, and Kelly climbed in, heading reluctantly home.

(to be continued…)


End file.
